Page 76 of Snaring Emberly
“Revenge had better be all that you want from her, or you and I will have a problem.”
“That’s rich, coming from the man who stole my meth lab,” I snarl.
The veneer of civility cracks. He flashes his teeth and hisses, “It’s mine.”
“So, you admit to stealing our scientists and equipment?”
“They were a gift from my cousin Freddy.”
“Who stole them from us the moment he framed me for murder,” I snarl. “You owe us for five years’ worth of product that our lab produced, and we never received.”
Galliano’s jaw hardens. “We don’t owe you shit. If you have a problem, you can take it up with Cousin Freddy.”
My eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”
“Take it however you want, but if I don’t get back my cook, there will be consequences.”
“Cook?”
“Isabella Cortese,” he snarls. “That woman belongs to me.”
My lip curls, but I don’t dignify the comment with a response. There’s not a chance in hell that a classy, intelligent woman like Dr. Cortese would want to associate with the man who kept her and her team hostage for nearly five years.
“You have an hour to leave New Alderney,” I say. “Any Galliano sympathizer found within the state limits will have to take up their complaints directly with Frederic Capello in hell.”
Scowling, Galliano stands without another word and walks away.
As Gil follows him through the club and out through the exit, I knock back the contents of my glass. This isn’t how I planned our first meeting, but the confrontation was inevitable.
Frederic Capello respected Tommy Galliano enough to include him in his will, which makes him a danger to Emberly. Galliano is also trying to move in on my territory, which is something I won’t allow, even if it means war.
TWENTY-SIX
EMBERLEY
Three days pass after the incident on the front steps and there’s no sign of Roman, which is probably for the best. I’m not looking forward to his reaction to what I witnessed. My mind can’t stop replaying Dominic’s broken body being riddled with bullets, Roman’s brutal attack, and the horror of being so viciously choked.
The swift justice almost makes up for being strangled, but I would prefer that it didn’t happen at all. If Roman killed to protect me, does that make me an accessory to murder?
I stay mostly within the confines of the pool area, occasionally taking the watercolors to the manicured gardens for inspiration. Every so often, I catch glimpses of Cesare Montesano across the grounds, who blows kissy faces or wags his tongue.
On the fourth day without Roman, I open the front door to find a four-feet tall trunk covered in Gucci canvas on a trolley. I glance around, looking for signs of whoever brought it, but the pool area is empty.
There’s a blank envelope on top, and I pull out a card that says:
The items from your apartment, as promised.
Love,
Roman
My lips part with a gasp. Roman arranged for my thrifted clothes to be put in a designer trunk? This thing probably costs more than a car.
Butterflies rise in my chest as I wheel the trolley inside. If he’s trying to buy my silence with expensive luggage, then he’s overpaid. At least this means he isn’t mad that I saw him murder Dominic.
Wow, that was callous.
I wait for a wave of guilt to arrive, but feel nothing. Dominic deserved that brutal beating. He tried to end one life and ruin another.